Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 95950 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95950 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
At the beginning of our relationship, that nasty comment would have wounded me. Half a year later, it’s water off a duck’s back. Instead, I shift in the seat and stare longingly out the window.
We both hear the engine sputter to life.
“Is your mom ever gonna get a new car?” He squints toward the garage as disgust morphs over his features. It’s almost like there’s a stench in the air offending his nostrils. “What’s it from? The early eighties?”
My gaze is reluctantly drawn to the old Civic. It’s one of two things that we still have of my father’s. It’s stupid that I’m so sentimentally attached to it.
It’s just a car.
After Dad died of colon cancer when I was seven years old, Mom was so broken hearted that she packed his things and donated them to charity. All the photographs were boxed up and placed in the attic, never to be seen again. It’s as if she thought it was possible to lessen the pain of his loss if she erased him completely from our lives.
The other thing I hung onto is his camera. It’s an old Nikon that still takes great pictures. I usually have it packed away in my school bag, because I never know when inspiration will strike.
Jasper understands why both the car and camera are important, but he doesn’t give a damn. He’s more interested in outward appearances and enjoys having the shiniest toys and the best of everything. It’s only recently that I’ve wondered why we’re together when I don’t fit with the image he projects to the outside world.
Sometimes, I suspect I’m one of those shiny toys.
Instead of mentioning the sentimentality of it, I mumble, “It’s not that old.”
He snorts. “Maybe, if it were the early nineties.”
It’s a relief when he drops the conversation and shifts the car into reverse before stomping on the accelerator. My heart gets lodged somewhere in the vicinity of my throat as I quickly snap the belt into place.
It’s a wonder he hasn’t killed himself or me yet with his reckless driving. It feels like I’m taking my life into my hands every time I reluctantly slide onto the leather seat next to him. Once we’re in the middle of the street, I barely have time to huff out a breath before the Porsche shoots forward, zipping down the road and out of the small subdivision at the southern end of Hawthorne.
It’s almost ironic that after crossing over the train tracks that divide the town in half, the houses become bigger, and our surroundings appear less dilapidated. The lawns grow in size and the architecture is more impressive.
I suspect the Hawthorne family intentionally designed it that way. Money and status have always been important here.
Without them, you’re nothing and no one.
Once we make it through the small center of town, passing by Rothchilds, a regional chain store owned by the Rothchild family, and the local Second Chance Theater, we leave the community behind in the rearview mirror as we head north onto a long stretch of country road surrounded by farmland before turning onto the winding drive that leads to Hawthorne Prep. As much as I despise this place and everything it stands for, it’s a relief when the gated campus comes into view. I search my mind for an excuse to escape Jasper’s suffocating presence.
“This weekend is gonna be epic,” he says, breaking into the whirl of my thoughts. When I remain silent, he spears a merciless look in my direction. “My plan is to score on the field, and then with you afterward.”
When my eyes widen, a slow grin moves across his face.
“I’ve given you more than enough time, and I’m done waiting.”
Just like that, my mouth turns cottony as my heartbeat hitches before pounding a painful staccato against my ribcage.
The silence that follows that announcement is brutal.
He hikes a brow. “What’s wrong? Nothing to say?”
My teeth scrape against my lower lip as I give my head a slight shake. The steely determination in his eyes tells me that any argument would be pointless. It seems almost unfathomable that I spent years craving his attention and now, I’d prefer he forget about my existence. Figuring a way out of this relationship feels even more imperative.
Otherwise…
A cold shiver slithers down my spine.
I can’t bring myself to consider the alternative.
DELILAH
It’s a relief when Jasper shifts the Porsche into park, and I can escape the claustrophobic confines of the sumptuous interior. My trembling fingers fumble for the handle before shoving it open as I grab my bag off the floor and slip soundlessly from the vehicle. Once outside in the crisp fall air, I suck in a shuddering breath, hoping it will steady the turmoil that roils inside.
It doesn’t.
I don’t make it more than two hurried steps when Jasper throws an arm around my shoulders and tugs me close before nipping my ear with sharp teeth.